


Makes Me Wonder, How You're Staying Warm at Night Without Your Lover

by kittenmittens



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy's fucking mean but he gets better i mean psycho billy's kinda canon anyway, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, F/F, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Pregnant Sex, Slow Burn, not abo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-11-24 03:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmittens/pseuds/kittenmittens
Summary: Basically, like, a super self indulgent fantasy of season four. So, of course, mpreg, but with kind of a plot, and Billy isn't dead and also everyone is gay.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> but princess, you say, don't you have like five other fics to be updating/finishing? and to that i say, shut up. have you heard that rachel chinouriri song? it's incredible. shut up.

The last thing Steve heard—other than static, since the walky Henderson gave him at the last minute turned out to be a complete piece of shit—was something about a ‘portal’, ‘Russians’, and ‘Hopper’. Then there’s a knock on the door, two and a half hours later, and Robin opens it, and _fuck_.

Steve expected… Shit, he doesn’t know! Like, half a million batshit things waiting for them on the other side, but a _living_ Billy Hargrove, standing there with the kids… That’s not one of ‘em! His mouth pops open and he and Robin just stare, and the herd of dumbasses stares back, and it’s totally quiet for a good ten seconds. And then:

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Robin says that—yeah! Yeah, Robin! That’s so funny. He is, actually!

Henderson’s arms pop up like they’re out on the court and he’s trying to tell Steve he’s open. “I know, I know! Yes, he is. But I can—“ He looks around at all the other peabrains, who each shake their heads like they’re saying, ‘no way, don’t pin this on me’. “—_we_ can explain. I swear. It’s not…” He thinks for a second. “Okay, yeah, it’s totally insane, but like I said! We can explain.” Henderson does that thing where he puts all his weight on one foot, then the other, then licks his lips, thinking. “_Later.” _Darting over to Steve, he grabs his shoulders _hard_. “Steve. Listen to me, Steve. Right now, we need to put him somewhere safe. And… secret.”

“Hey, _shitheads!_” Hargrove barks as he squeezes in the doorway, shoving Byers so hard he almost falls over. “I’m right here.”

“Are you shitting me right now?” Steve grabs the arm of the couch and shoves his body against it, since he doesn’t feel like taking five freakin’ minutes to stand up today. “I don’t know what the hell that thing _is—“ _He points at the… Hargrove. “—but you’re not keeping him here.”

Max scoots around Hargrove, going up to Steve as soon as he’s standing. “Steve, please! Just for a little while.” She cranes her neck back to look at Hargrove like she’s on a bad trip or something. Yeah, well, that makes two of them. “If I take him home, my parents are gonna have a heart attack.”

“Gee, I _wonder why_.” Steve starts pawing at his face, then winces when Hargrove starts screaming again.

“_Hellooo!? _You wanna tell me what the _fuck_ is going on here?” He makes sure to smash his shoulder against Sinclair’s when he stomps over to Steve, too, snapping right in Max’s face. “What the hell just happened? Why the fuck am I here? Harrington’s…” Hargrove actually looks at him, and _shit_. Would’ve been cool to catch him this off guard if Steve had planned it. “Holy shit. What happened to you?”

“Oh. Now that’s a fun story,” Robin pipes up again.

“That’s great! Awwwwesome. I’m gonna love this.” Steve yanks Henderson over by the arm, away from the rest of the shithead brigade, hissing, “Are you kidding me!? There’s no way I am doing _any_ of this! You know what my favorite memory of this guy is?”

Henderson stares. “Uh.”

“The night he beat the crap out of me!” And just so Henderson doesn’t think Steve’s one of those.. say-do… The maso… The dudes who get a hard on from whips and shit, he tries to clear things up. “That’s the best one, ‘cause when he knocked me out, I didn’t have to deal with his bullshit anymore.” Heh. Wait! Steve almost forgot the best part. “Oh, and he’s dead. Why is he not dead!? Can you tell me that? I would—“ The words are falling out so fast, it’s like he’s hurling. “Henderson, I would _very much_ like to know why Billy Hargrove is not _dead_, and why you brought him to _my goddamn apartment.” _

“Don’t—GUH! Shit, man!” Henderson pulls his arm back so he can yank Max up against him. “Ask her!”

Max just raises her hands like a cop pulled her over, backing towards the door. Everybody starts copying her—Sinclair, Byers, even Henderson trips over his feet to get away—and the last thing she says before she scrams, along with the rest of the kids is: “I’ll call you.”

* * *

“So.” Hargrove’s picking his teeth in their kitchen, looking at Steve like he’s a port-a-potty somebody tipped over. “When’d you turn into a complete lardass?”

“After I nailed your mom.” Steve crosses his arms, jiggling his foot against the floor as he keeps his eyes on clone-Hargrove. Yeah, he’s a clone. According to his sister, and the chief of police, and all the other brats that literally never leave him alone for five minutes, Hargrove’s a _Russian _clone they grabbed from a _Russian_... secret… spy base and took through a _Russian_ portal. And either he doesn’t get that he’s a clone, or he doesn’t seem to care, because he acts just like Hargrove 1.0. It’s only been an hour since the kids stuck him and Robin with Clone-grove, and Steve already can’t see any difference. He’s not sure why the hell he let this shit slide—the babysitting gig does _not_ extend to undead freaks from ‘The Motherland’, even if Max kept telling him it’d only be for one night. Especially ‘cause, honestly, Steve’s not totally sure which is worse: regular Hargrove or evil Russian clone Hargrove. Pretty sure the answer’s ‘neither’, since it literally _cannot_ get worse than Billy Goddamn Hargrove as, like, a baseline, but either way, he is not taking his eyes off the _thing_ leaning against their countertops.

“Ooh, good one.” Robin, sitting on the floor Indian style with a pile of textbooks, stops chewing on her pencil for a minute so she can jab it towards Steve. “But, I’ll be honest with you, Stevie: I think you can do better.”

“Are you seriously doing homework right now?” Steve wants to tear his hair out! Not really—heh, no shit. It’s bad enough for him to want to fuck up the one thing he’s got left that’s still mildly attractive. “Did you _not_ hear Henderson? The Russians are doing that Star Wars beam-down shit _into our neighborhood_. They could teleport in here and shoot us all in the head before we know what hit us! They could—“

Robin raises her hands in the ‘shut up for a minute’ pose. “It’s—okay, for the record, no, it doesn’t matter, but—_trek_. Star Trek.”

Steve squints. “Huh?”

“Star Trek,” Robin explains. “The ‘beam me up, Scotty’ one is Star Trek. Star Wars is the one with the laser swords.” She taps her head for emphasis. “You should really know this, Harrington. It’s even part of your ultra-special, super-secret handshake with Gumby. Are you telling me your whole relationship with Dusty-buns is based off a façade?” 

Hargrove lets out this serial-killer laugh. “Who the hell is this bitch?”

“Oh. Eugh.” Robin gags, then cups her hand around her mouth so she can whisper at Steve. “I’m just gonna ignore him. Are you good with that?”

“Mm. Yeah.” Steve nods, hand under his nose as he thinks. “I mean.” He sniffs, shrugging and putting his knuckles on his hips. “He’s a clone, right? He’ll probably melt into… clone goop by morning.”

“If we’re lucky,” agrees Robin.

Billy glares for a second, then grins and opens his mouth so he can wag his tongue back and forth, y’know, just in case Steve forgot he’s a complete freak. Man, this clone might be even less of a psycho than regular Hargrove, and Steve sure as hell wouldn’t notice. The bar ain’t too high. He watches, feeling out of it as Hargrove turns, yanks their fridge open, pulls out a six-pack, and cracks one open. And he starts… gulping it down, without even breaking that plastic thing that holds all the cans together. Just… lifts everything up, whole face blocked out by the cans so all Steve can see is his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down. It feels like he’s trying to intimidate him and Robin by chugging all their booze, but, like… Steve can’t even have it right now, and Robin’s not a big drinker. Actually, is that—that might be expired. Can beer expire? Or would it just get more alcohol-y? Steve’s not even sure.

“And thus concludes the alpha gorilla’s threatening display of guzzling fermented liquid, meant to intimidate all other males in the vicinity,” drawls Robin. “Only time will tell if he was successful. Will the other male challenge him?” Robin puts a hand on her cheek, eyebrows climbing towards her hair as she smiles at Steve. “Well? You gonna fight for your territory?”

“Hey. Don’t piss him off.” Steve realizes that sounds kinda like he cares about Hargrove’s feelings, so he makes it obvious it’s a warning by adding, “He’ll probably shank you.”

“Real big talk from somebody who can’t see his own dick.” Hargrove drops the cans on the counter, wiping the foam off his pornstache. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened to you or what?”

“I mean, I could say the same thing to you, except—y’know, I don’t care.” Steve sniffs, finger ghosting under his nose again. “Whoever frankensteined you back to life fucked up, _big time_. Must not’ve known what a psycho waste of space you are.”

“Heh. That’s cute, Harrington. Real cute.” Hargrove swaggers over to him slowly, hands on his hips, flicking his tongue around his mouth like he’s got a piece of gum in there he’s playing with. (Wait, does he? Steve definitely doesn’t have any gum in here, which makes him wonder if he got cloned _with_ the gum, which is just… _freaking disgusting_, honestly.) He stands there, grinning at Steve with those weird janky teeth hanging out. Robin leans over from behind him, so Steve can see her mouthing something in confusion that he can’t totally make out. The part after that happens so fast that Steve doesn’t see it coming by a long shot. Hargrove braces one arm against his collarbone and rams him into the wall, hard enough to knock the air out of him. “Now that I’m here, we’re gonna go over a few ground rules, alright?”

“WHAT THE HELL?” Robin half-falls, half-jumps off the floor, rushing over and grabbing at Billy’s arm, but he knocks her off her feet and onto the ground with one rough shove.

“_AS I WAS SAYING.” _He grinds his arm higher up, right against Steve’s windpipe, while he half-shouts. “When I’m crashing here, we’re gonna do things a little differently. Now, you’re a reasonable guy, aren’t you, Harrington?”

“E-Eat… _ssshhhit_…. _H-Hahhgrove,”_ chokes Steve.

“Oh, what? You don’t wanna cooperate?” Billy chuckles as Robin scrambles to back up behind him. “Fine by me! I can do this all night.”

Just as Robin’s grabbing at Billy again, digging her nails in as he blocks her easily, the door slams open and Max yelps, “BILLY!”

She sprints over and grabs him—for a split second, Steve assumes she goes for his other arm, the one that’s holding Steve up, but no. She, like, hugs him around the waist, and it’s so totally out of nowhere, Steve sees (through his vision going hazy and black in some spots) that Billy’s eyes kinda bug out, and his muscles go slack. Just like that, Steve can breathe again, and he starts sucking in air. “Billy, _STOP!_ Y-You can’t hurt him!”

“Why the fuck not?” Billy looks down at her like he can’t believe she’s still touching him. Steve’s not sure if that’s because he’s grossed out by her, or shocked that she’s actually willing to hang onto him for more than three seconds.

Max swallows, staring up at Billy, and Steve wheezes. The word doesn’t come out, but damn it, he’s thinking it hard enough that it oughta count for something, right? No. _No_, damn it! No, no, _nonono—_do NOT tell Hargrove! Anybody else on the fucking planet but him! Steve’d take _anybody_. Tommy, Carol, his folks, just _please_, don’t let Max spill her guts about this to _Billy Shit-For-Brains Hargrove—_

“He’s pregnant,” she whispers.

Hargrove doesn’t look like her heard her, but then his grip goes slack and Steve slides down the wall. He lands hard on his ass, and Robin almost trips again as she throws herself over. She squats next to him and starts patting his back like he just swallowed a whole chicken wing. Wiping the spittle off his lips, he looks up as Max slowly, awkwardly pulls away from Billy, arms stick on her sides, since she probably doesn’t know what to do with them now.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?” Hargrove snaps. Okay, so, he didn’t buy it, _thank God. _Not that Steve, like, wants to go back to the part where the lunatic was choking him out against the wall, but hey. This is a pretty decent middle ground.

“It’s _true_, shitbird.” Robin yanks him to his feet and Steve manages to stand up with a wobble. “You just attacked a pregnant… person.” She squints at him, all judgmental, as if this isn’t just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the crazy shit Hargrove’s capable of. “Even a Paleolithic _fuckhead_ like you has to realize that’s messed up.”

Steve coughs a post-strangle loogie into his hand. “Mm. D-Doin’ some wishful thinking there, Robbie.”

“Alright, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re gonna get me to do, but I’m not a fucking moron.” Hargrove moves his arm, and Max grabs it again, right away, and he yanks it back, looking all offended, like _she _was in the wrong for not letting him throw Steve through a wall. “I’ve seen this bastard in the shower, and I think I would’ve noticed if he had a goddamn _pussy.” _

_“_Billy, they _cloned you,” _Max says quietly. “El has superpowers, we got back here through a _portal_ that goes into another dimension…” She laughs a tired, crazy laugh. “This is _so_ not the weirdest thing that’s happened in Hawkins.”

Billy stares at her again, then puts his arms down, hands in fists. “Shut the fuck up. He’s not a chick, he’s not _pregnant_.”

“Oh, he _is.”_ Greeeaaat. Now Robin’s backing him up, too.

“Guys—“

“Look at his body!” Robin moves her hand under his chest, same style as the lady who sells fifty dollar knives on those three AM informercials. “You think fat guys get racks like _this?” _

“_Oh_ my God.” Steve’s gonna shoot himself, but first, just— quietly, because he’s pissed off, and he’s gotta get it out there that he was right—“I _knew_ I caught you looking!”

“Yeah, we’ll discuss it later.” Robin won’t make eye contact with him, and a second later, she yanks up his shirt.

_“HEY!”_ Face burning, Steve tugs it back down.

When Robin reaches for it again, Steve grabs at her wrists, and she says in a low, careful voice, “This could save your life, Stevie.”

“Okay, no. Fuck that.” Steve smacks Robin’s hands away, pointing towards Hargrove. “My life is not in _danger_, and I’m not showing this future death row alum _jack shit_. Got it? Do we understand?”

“Steve,” says Max, begging.

“You’ve been outvoted, captain,” Robin adds, then peels his shirt up one last time.

Hargrove gawks the way you rubberneck at a ten car pileup, except a guy like Hargrove’d probably think that shit was funny, so… Y’know. Either way, he looks like he’s gonna hurl, and he actually jerks back and turns around when something moves under the skin of Steve’s gut.

“Looks like a giant tapeworm.” Finally letting go, Robin lets his shirt fall down on its own.

“Oh, that’s _helpful_. That was all _veeeeery_ helpful.” Steve grabs his face, and slides down against the wall again, wishing he could forget the look on Max’s face when she watched a foot jab out of him like that scene in the movie with the aliens. The one with the black, boner-headed alien with the double-mouths. Fuck, what was that called?

“Oh! Um.” Max jerks back, then looks around, probably making sure nobody’s gonna start ripping somebody else’s head off again, before she runs back to the door and grabs a little bag on the floor. Must’ve dropped it when she came in and saw Hargrove trying to murder him. She holds it out for Hargrove, who looks at it like she’s trying to pass him a dead possum. “I brought you some stuff. It’s, uh… I got some old clothes from the house, and a few of Neil’s beers, and—“ She looks a hell of a lot more confident all of a sudden as she adds, “—some cigarettes. You do _not_ want to know what it took to get these, so…” She shoves it towards Hargrove again, and he takes it this time, probably because he’s so freaked out his punching bag’s talking to him like they’re equals. “You better use ‘em.”

Hargrove’s frozen for a second, probably scared that someone being nice at him might contaminate his shitbag… _everything. _He grips the bag a little tighter before grumbling, “You want a fuckin’ medal?” He pries the pack out of the bag, then fishes around and finds a lighter, too. He puts a smoke in his mouth and lights it, blowing in Steve’s direction before he runs a hand lightly over Max’s head and stomps into the other room. Best Steve can figure, he’s sick of being around people who are into, y’know, having consciences, and that whole concept of caring about each other, that kind of shit. But—

Wait. Did he just, like… _touch her?_ Fuck, okay—not in a creepy way, but in a… nice way? A brother way. Steve blinks. “Huh.”

“Huh,” Robin agrees.

Steve swallows, then looks over at Max, who seems like she’s just as freaked out over what happened as they are. “How the hell did you get those?” He’s gonna guess she either stole ‘em from her step-dad, or tricked some older kid into buying them for her.

“El got them.” Max smiles. “Her powers aren’t… They’re still gone, so she, uh—she used this trick she learned it from her ‘sister’.” They’re all quiet for a second, and then Max just… blabs, the way you do when you’ve gotta talk about something, and you don’t care who you’re talking about it _to_. “I-I’m really glad she’s back.”

The way she says that makes Steve feel kinda… Shit, he’s not sure. But it reminds him of something, and it gives him this heart-squeezy feeling. “Yeah, kid. Me too.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve watched Max run out of the apartment and back into the Byer’s beat-up Pinto, El shoving the front seat forward with Will still in it. The three of them were laughing so loud Steve could hear it from the third floor window. Felt good, y’know? Having those shitheads back. Steve’s pretty sure he didn’t really get how much he’d missed them til they busted into his apartment last week. It was nice, even if they only came by so they could out about Russians and Hawkins and _Russia_ and Mindflayers... Oh, and also dump Night of the Living Dead Billy Hargrove on him. Fuck, man; if he’d figured that was gonna happen, he might’ve been a little less hospitable_. _

When their tail lights disappear around the corner, he turns and heads into his room so he can fall onto his bed. Not face-first, obviously, since he can’t do that shit anymore. He doesn’t that far, though. Instead, Hargrove’s lying there, totally passed out, on _Steve’s_ fucking bed.

“Oh, _come on_, man!” Steve grabs him by the arm and shakes him hard enough to move his whole body, but the prick isn’t budging. “This is _my bed_, shitweasel!” At first, Steve makes a move like he’s gonna kick him, but then his thigh hits his gut and he remembers that’s not really an option right now. “Hey. Hey! You hear me? Couch!” Waddling around to the other side so he can see Hargrove’s definitely-faking-being-asleep face, he shouts, “Get the fuck off my bed! You wanna sleep on the couch, I’m good with that, but you better move your ass.” 

Hargrove’s frozen for a couple more seconds, but he caves when Steve makes it clear he’s not gonna shut up about this. So he stretches out real casually and folds his arms behind his head, grunting and then sighing this peaceful, douchebag sigh. “How ‘bout you _make me_, fatass?”

Steve’s so pissed off he just freezes—worse than he has in a while, worse than when they were running out the clock and he had to make that free throw, even worse than when he and Nance had that fight about ‘bullshit’_. _And, yeah! Great. Now he’s in an extra good mood.

Shit. But.

_But. _

Even though it makes him wanna rip his own face off, he’s gotta admit, Hargrove has a point. Steve’s not gonna be able to move him. At least, not like this, and he knows Hargrove’s gonna put up a fight. Steve in his _prime_ couldn’t wrestle Hargrove out of anywhere; sure, he’s got an inch or two on the guy, but Hargrove’s built like a blond gorilla. “Okay, then. Locks!” Steve throws his hands up in the air, marches over to his door, and jangles the doorknob a couple times. “This door is getting a lock. _Tomorrow_. And this shit’s not happening again.”

Yeah, Steve could’ve put up more of a fight. He can think of, like, five different ways he could be a huge pain in the ass right now. Throwing crap at Hargrove’s head, or playing Robin’s opera records at top volume. Maybe dumping cold water where the guy’s mullet used to be would get him to scram, but Steve’s, like… _tired_. And this clone shit’s screwing with his head. He just wants to sleep.

So, Steve takes the couch.

And the next morning, he gets to meet Suzie-poo. Christ.

Suzie, she’s—she’s… cute. Kinda. In a “nerdiest kid I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life” sorta way. Since that title was previously held by Henderson, Steve’s gotta be honest here: it takes an overachiever to just rip that trophy out of his arms. She’s got a bow the size of her head tying up the back of her hair, coke-bottle glasses, and a rainbow sweater that looks like it’s hand-knitted and trying to eat her. But, yeah, under that, Steve guesses she’s kinda cute.

“Suzie-poo, c’mere! C’mere.” Henderson brings her over to the check-out counter, and Steve sees her eyes kinda go up and down his body, trying to figure out what the hell is going on there. Yeah, you’d think he’d be used to it by now. It isn’t exactly helping that company dress code doesn’t leave much to the imagination. “This. Is _Steve.” _

“Wow! _The_ Steve.” After she’s done sizing him up, Suzie-poo holds out her hand, and it takes Steve a second to get that she wants to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Mostly good stuff, I hope.” He gives her a ‘job interview’ handshake—the one you do when you’re ninety percent sure you bombed the Q & A.

“Well—“

Henderson grabs her shoulder and cuts her off. “Ohhhkay, anyway—she’s gonna be staying here for the next couple of weeks!” He gives her shoulder a squeeze, blabbing too fast for her to get a word in. “Isn’t that great? Right? Suzie?” 

“Wow. That is…” Let’s see: they’ve got more Russians running around, just-as-evil-clone-Hargrove is crashing at Steve’s place, and last time Steve checked, and he’s got his own personal… issues_._ “_perfect_ timing.”

“Yeah, well. Mormon… _scheduling_… is tough.” That’s Henderson’s way of saying ‘I would’ve rescheduled, but I’m shit out of luck.’ “Right, Suzie-poo?”

Suzie-poo looks back and forth between him and Steve, probably trying to get it through her head that Henderson’s a whole extra level of crazy she didn’t even know about. “…. Sure.” Gently tugging Dustin’s hand off her shoulder, she takes a step back and announces, “You probably don’t have ‘Newton’s Apple’ here, but…” Nose wrinkling, she scopes out the rest of Family Video. “I’m going to look, anyway.”

Okay. That was a huge pain in Steve’s ass, but he figures he ought to throw Henderson a bone. He’s palled around with the kid long enough to know he’s sensitive, and Steve’s not gonna be the douche who tells the kid his first girlfriend’s kind of a brat. “… Alright, Henderson. Girl-geek thing aside, she’s pretty cute.”

“Right?” Henderson perks up instantly. “Steve, she’s great. Better than great. She’s amazing! The whole time she’s been here, it’s just like—amazing thing after amazing thing.” He keeps this goofy grin for, like, ten seconds, probably daydreaming about her, but then his smile shrinks. “Except—“

“Except?”

“Well.” Henderson clears his throat, leaning in and pulling that ‘top-secret’ shit where he whispers super quiet, even though nobody in this town gave two fucks when he started screaming about Russian spies last year. “She doesn’t believe _anything _I tell her. Nothing about the Upside-Down, or about the Russians, or El’s powers—oh, and _nobody_ did me a solid by bringing back proof. They—they _literally _portaled to Russia and back through the upside down, and nobody tried to grab me, like, a a tub of USSR ooze so she won’t think I’m full of shit?”

“That’s…” Steve clears his throat, looking away and raking his hand through his bangs. “Yeah, that’s… rough, Henderson.” Steve coulda gone his entire life without knowing jack shit about all the fucked up stuff going on in this town, and he’d be perfectly happy. Not everybody’s got a fucking hard-on for this nightmare shit like the kid does. “… You sure you _want_ her to know?”

“Of course I want her to know!” Henderson shouts that last part, and the one customer who isn’t Suzie-poo looks over at him, pissed off.

Steve rolls his eyes at the old guy. “Cool it, man. This isn’t a freakin’ library.”

After he takes a second to stick his tongue out at the old man, Henderson goes on. “We share a union, Steve. A _bond_ of total honesty and understanding. I do _not_ want that to get fucked up ‘cause I didn’t prepare her for the perpetual insanity that we’re all permanently entrenched in.”

“Okay, dictionary boy.” God, he swears Henderson pulls out the four-syllable words just to fuck with Steve ‘cause he thinks he can’t understand them. “All I’m saying is, that girl’s a walking cupcake. She’s Mormon, man. Best case scenario, she’d see El move a can three inches, crap her pants, and pass out.”

“Oh, she can take it.” Crossing his arms, Henderson stares him down. It’s kinda working better than it used to, now that Henderson’s almost as tall as he is. “Back at camp, one of the guys in Gamma cabin had this weird lump on the top of his head. Turned out he had a botfly lay eggs in there on his vacation to Mexico.” The kid gets this dreamy look on his face that _so_ does not go with the next, super fucked-up thing he says. “The larvae busted out of his skull in front of everybody, and Suzie was right there in front, grabbing it with some tweezers so she could put it in a bottle and study it later.”

Steve drums his fingers on the counter, trying not to hurl. “… Well, that’s just _lovely_, Henderson.”

“Yeah.” Dustin laughs. “It was awesome.” Then he freezes, staring at Steve.

Steve’s eyes dart away for a second, then back to Henderson. “… What?”

“Duh! I’m such an idiot.” Henderson throws his arms out, like he’s showing Steve off as the eighth (or ninth, maybe? Are there eight already?) wonder of the world. “We can just show her Steve Jr.!”

Oh, you have gotta be kidding. “Uh, no. Not happening.” Steve reaches out past the counter, as far as he can without his gut bumping into it, shoving Henderson’s arms down. “You already flashed my goods to Hargrove.” Steve’s been tortured enough, damn it. “Oh, and by the way, show her _what, _exactly? I’m not stripping for your little… geek princess.” Crossing his arms, he clears his throat. “Pretty sure that’d land me with some kinda sexual harassment charge.”

“There has to be something you can do to prove it.” Henderson wracks his little pea brain, then lights up again. “Oh! I know! Make him move around.”

“First off, _no_.” Steve lifts one finger, then another. “Second off, even if I could control it, which I can’t—_hell _no_.” _

They don’t get to finish this conversation, thank God, because Henderson’s nerdette comes back up to the front with an armful of the most boring shit they have in stock. “Guess I’ll have to make do with ‘Nova.’” Suzie-poo dumps a few tapes on the counter and turns to Henderson. “You ready, Dusty-bun?”

“You got it, Suzie-poo.” Henderson looks like he’s gonna explode if he doesn’t keep talking, but also like he’s trying to shut himself up. After a second, the first thing wins out. “But, uhh, _first…” _He clears his throat. “You know all those things I’ve been telling you about? The things that make you think I’m crazy, or a pathological liar, or—hang on!” Suzie-poo turns towards him, arm on the counter, glaring her little head off. “Hang on. _Before_ you start jumping to conclusions, I want you to know, our friend Steve here is not just an awkward looking young adult with the worst case combination of man boobs and a beer gut America has ever seen.” There’s another pause, and Steve thinks Dustin would’ve stuck a drumroll in there if he could’ve. “He’s _actually_ the world’s first pregnant man!”

“I’m… not.” Steve’s eyes dart away, and then he denies it. And, yeah, it’s hitting him just how screwed up it is that what he says next is a lie. “I’m not… pregnant.”

Henderson’s little girl-scout doesn’t buy it, anyway. Actually, she seems sorta pissed. “Dusty-bun, that’s not funny.” Steve raises his eyebrows and watches Suzie-poo round on Henderson like a rabid poodle. “You shouldn’t tell jokes about him. Isn’t he your friend?”

Henderson’s body language goes into instant ‘surrender’ mode, and he shrinks down about three inches. “I’m wasn’t joking! I was just—“

“Besides, it wasn’t even a good punchline.” With this bratty, smartass sigh, she jabs an arm in Steve’s direction, saying, “_Obviously_ he’s suffering from some genetic disorder, like Klinefelter syndrome.”

Steve squints. “Kline-what, exactly?”

“Klinefelter syndrome.” Boy, she just rattles that word off like it’s nothing, huh? “It happens when a male is born with extra X chromosomes, and can result in weight gain, breast development, lack of body hair.”

Steve, like—he doesn’t have a comeback for that, okay? He’s just… He’s not even touching that one. “Huh.”

“… Uh. Okay.” Henderson’s plenty lost, too. “Y-You know what? Never mind. Suzie-poo, let’s—uh—c’mere. I wanna show you something.” He leads her off, and Steve can hear him muttering, “Now, I know you’re not super into horror, and your folks would probably _flip_ if they found out I showed you this, but…”

Steve watches Henderson take her to the goriest part of the horror section, then catches the librarian guy checking out his gut when he thinks Steve isn’t looking. He jolts when Steve stares him down, turning around real fast so he can hurry down the aisle. “Yeah, that’s right.” He half-shouts when he adds, “Next time, I’m gonna start charging!” The bell rings, and Steve’s got his dumbass greeting ready before he even swings his head around to see who’s coming in, groaning like a fucking zombie. “Welcome to Family Video. How can I help—” Ah, fuck. “Are you fucking kidding me!?”

Hargrove squishes his cigarette against the top of the gumball machine to put it out, then flicks it through door just before it slams shut. Steve’s still getting used to that buzz cut, and the shades threw him off for a second, but Hargrove’s just such a douchebag, Steve can _feel_ that it’s him.

Steve squishes himself on the counter as he leans in, hissing at Hargrove when he walks up. “Listen, man. I don’t know how many brain cells they forgot to copy when they stuck you in that cloning pod, but—” He jerks his finger towards the door, figuring maybe Hargrove’ll listen if he talks to him like an extra stupid dog. “—you’re _not supposed to leave the apartment.” _

“Yeah? That right?” Chuckling, Hargrove leans back, rolls his shoulders, and runs his tongue over his teeth. “See, Harrington, there’s a problem with that plan. If I can’t leave that little shithole you’re so proud of, how the hell am I supposed to get my reds?”

“Huh. Wow. I stand corrected.” Something in his back pops when Steve straightens up, but he ignores it. “You’re right—that _is _an important problem. Y’know, you could fish some out of the gutter for free.” Steve crosses his arms, even though doing that hurts like a bitch nowadays. “Bet you’d be reeeaaal comfy down there.”

After staring him down for a second, Hargrove ignores what Steve just said and turns to gush over that expensive display figure Keith brought in. (The one that’s supposed to be the alien that looks like a giant elephant turd.) “Ooh. That looks expensive. This one-of-a-kind?” Billy does this fakey move where he takes, like, a whole fucking minute to polish and pick at dust and stains that aren’t actually there. “Mm. Yep. Theeeere we go. Now lemme just…” Squashing his hand on top of it, Hargrove slides the figure all the way to the end of the counter and lets it drop to the floor with a clunk.

Steve squints and does this slow ‘I feel sorry for you’ head shake. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“What? You don’t wanna hear me out?” Clicking his tongue, Hargrove steps back. “Figured you’d want me out of your place, but hey! I can stick around. Keep my little snot of a step-sister happy. I’m a nice guy like that.” With a shrug, he turns on his heel and starts walking back out of the store.

Okay, so—Steve doesn’t want to talk to Hargrove. Or look at him, or _think_ about looking at him. Never mind babysit him. So, yeah, even if Max is gonna lose her shit when she finds out, he’d love to make Hargrove somebody else’s problem. Still, he kinda hates himself when he ends up groaning and giving in just before Hargrove gets to the door; even if they both want the same thing, he hates letting the douche feel like he’s won. “… Wait.”

“’Atta girl, Harrington.” Hargrove chuckles, putting an elbow on the counter and leaning forward. “So, here’s what I’m thinking: your folks still got that McMansion?”

Steve’s not even gonna ask why Hargrove’s got any clue what his house looks like. Also, he can already see where the dickwipe’s headed with this, and—“No. Just… _no_, man. Come on! Are you fucking brain-damaged? I’m not gonna let you in my house_.” Gross. _Besides, Steve got kicked out once they found out he was raking in the minimum wage, because according to his dad, ‘You’ve got no reason to be mooching at your age when you’ve got a good, steady income.’ Robin keeps telling him it was great timing, since his dad didn’t have to see him turn into a ‘fat slob’, and yeah, Steve’s just _thrilled. _Not like he’s ever gonna tell them his folks what really happened (and he knows explaining’s gonna get a hell of a lot harder once this is all, y’know, over, but he’s… gonna cross that bridge when he gets to it).

“Well, I could crash there. Use one of your twenty guest rooms, keep quiet. Your folks’ll never even know I’m there, and I’ll be officially out of your hair.” One of his eyebrows pops up higher than the other. “_Or…_ I can keep slumming it with you and your pet dyke.” His eyes go up and down Steve’s body—or, whatever he can see from the counter up—and they go juuuust slow enough to make Steve’s skin crawl. “Oh, and I don’t really give two shits what sort of _freakshow_ you turned into while I was gone: I’m _not_ giving up the bed.”

“Oh, wow. Real gentleman.” Alright, Steve’s done. He just starts organizing the returns while Hargrove tries to psyche him out, stacking them up and watching the guy out of the corner of his eye. Hargrove’s started to do this angry chewing thing the longer he gets ignored, and Steve snorts. He doesn’t get long to enjoy it, though. Before Hargrove snaps and starts bitching, this huge, tattooed guy barges in and stomps right up to the counter. He’s so massive that Hargrove has to jump to one side so he doesn’t get stepped on. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

The guy doesn’t say a word, just lifts one giant hand and puts a beefy finger down on a movie Steve’s about to stick back on the shelves. It’s one of the new flicks they got in this month—_The Fly. _

“You wanna… rent it?” Steve swallows, feeling creeped out beyond belief when the nutcase just nods. There’s something really fucking _off_ about this guy, and it takes Steve until he’s done checking him out to get _what_ that thing is. (Y’know, besides the silent treatment and a neck that’s thicker than Steve’s entire body.) The whole time this freak’s been in here, Hargrove’s been hunched over, face down, muscles tense, picking through their candy rack he’s trying to look as not-guilty as possible. Except, he’s obviously losing his shit, so it doesn’t work at all. Blabbermouth takes one last look at Hargrove, sizing him up, maybe, then grabs his VHS and splits. He and Hargrove are both totally quiet for a minute—wow. That’s… weird. But, yeah. Dead silent. Steve can even hear Henderson doing some weird-ass impression to make Suzie-poo laugh from all the way in the back of the store. It’s just… silent, with Hargrove spacing out, and Steve watching him. “… Okay, seriously. What the hell’s your pro—”

“That guy.” Hargrove swallows, standing up straighter as he taps his fingers on the counter. Shit, maybe he’s tweaking or something. Steve would’ve figured Hawkins is too backwater for the hard shit, but he guesses they’re finally on the map. “Th-That guy’s…”

“Real chatty? Yeah.”

Hargrove doesn’t even get pissy over Steve’s bad joke, he’s so in his own head.“… Russian.”

Steve swallows. “You, uh…” He sniffs, looking past Hargrove towards the door, like maybe the guy’s gonna run back in and say, ‘Da, Comrade Hargrove is correct’ or some crap. “You just goin’ by looks, or… ?”

“_No,_ dipshit. He’s _Russian-_Russian. H-He was in the lab, Harrington.” Steve doesn’t get it for the first second, and then it hits him like a slap in the face. “The guys that did this to me.” Brought him back. “That fucker’s one of ‘em.”

“And he’s… here?” Steve asks. “Oh, _shit.”_ Okay, this is… bad. It’s bad, right? Steve’s not totally sure his brain can cover all the ways that guy vacationing here is gonna suck, but it makes him nervous as hell.

“Okay, wait—wait a minute. I’m sorry, but—” Just behind Hargrove, Henderson walks up, along with his parasite. “Did you say that guy was one of the Russians? Like, the _mad scientist _Russians?”

Steve shrugs. “Is there another kind?”

“You know what I mean!” snaps Dustin. “Look: there’s no way anyone could get from Russia to here in twenty-four hours.”

“They can if they’ve got fucking _portals_, you little shit,” Hargrove growls. Suzie-poo lets out a squeak that reminds Steve of one of those purse-dogs getting thrown against a wall.

“He—“ Ducking down, she whispers loud enough for all four of them to hear, “Dusty-poo, he just _swore_.” Head popping back up, she asks, “Who are you? Don’t you know this is a public establishment? Swearing is _extremely _impolite.” Then she does this tone. The same ‘I feel bad for you’ tone that Steve had earlier, except, when a fourteen-year-old Mormon does it, it’s, like, ten times as funny. “I’m surprised you don’t know any better. Frankly, at your age, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“…” Huh. Steve might have to give Suzie-poo a little more credit, because Hargrove actually looks creeped out by somebody else for a change. “Who the hell is this?” Hargrove jabs a finger at Suzie while he growls at Steve, “Are you fucking with me? Are you fucking with me right now?” 

“Down, boy,” grumbles Steve, and Hargrove’s got the nerve to give him this look like he’s pissed Steve broke up the almost-brawl between him and Phoebe Cates. “Yeah, you heard me. What are you gonna do, huh? Show me! Yeah, Hargrove, I’d _love_ to see you take on Suzie-poo here.” With his one arm sticking out like a ref, he snaps, “Back the fuck off.” He’s not gonna wail on Steve when he’s knocked up, he’s _probably_ not gonna beat up Suzie… ‘Course, he might grab Dustin just so he can take out his frustration on somebody, so Steve sorta… reaches over the counter and scoots the kid back. Y’know, just in case.

“Hey, quick question?” Henderson smacks his arm away, staring up at Hargrove, scared to take his eyes off the freak. Yeah, well, Steve’s in the same boat. “What the hell is he doing here?” He turns towards Steve like—_oh,_ like it’s his fault!—and ignores Suzie’s traumatized ‘_Dusty-poo’_. “Isn’t he supposed to be under quarantine?”

“It’s not my fault, man! You shitheads just _dumped him_ on me.” Doing this big, pissy shrug, Steve grumbles, “Well, I’ve got the afternoon shift, and Robin’s got class til six, so I guess you and the fucking Scooby gang better get together and find another babysitter with a fucking _open_ schedule.”

“Christ! Alright.” Dustin whistles through his teeth—the accidental kind, ‘cause of the missing ones—then mutters, “Bitch.”

“Mm. Okay. Okay.” Steve nods like he’s cool, he’s calm—then lunges over the counter as far as his stomach’s gonna let him, reaching over so he can try and get at Henderson. “_C’mereyoulittleshit—!” _

Henderson screams like a six-year-old girl and Steve barely gets a grip on his shirt sleeve when Hargrove’s giant Flintstones hand shoves his whole face back. “HEY! _HEY!” _

“Jesus—! What? _What_?” Steve didn’t see that coming, mostly since he figured Hargrove’d be the type to get super into violence against children. Panting a little (since that’s all it takes to get his fat ass winded these days), he chokes out, “Wh-What the hell’s your problem?”

“I don’t know what the _fuck_ is going on here—” Drawing a circle with his arm around Steve, Dustin, and Suzie-poo, Hargrove snaps, “—and I don’t care. I’m doing whatever the hell I want, _when_ I want to. That’s good news for you _and _me, Harrington.” He grins, then does another circle around his own stomach—oh, yeah. Cute. That’s supposed to be Steve. “Means no all-season pass for the fuckin’ sideshow.”

“Okay, okay—can we get back on topic, please?” Dustin claps to get everybody to focus. “This is serious shit! How. _The hell_. Is a Russian Frankenstein here right now?”

“Yeah, no kidding. You saw him, right?” Steve’s nose twitches and he wipes it super quick. “That dude was a fucking _monster.” _

“No, dude.” Okay, ew. The look on Henderson’s face reminds Steve way too much of his Senior economics teacher. “I called him Frankenstein, ‘cause—y’know, ‘cause he’s a scientist.”

Steve’s… lost. “… What?”

“Jesus chri—” Now he’s pinching at his nose, like Steve’s somehow an idiot for not knowing this shit. “Frankenstein was the _doctor, _Steve. Not the monster.”

Steve makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound. “That’s—I mean, you’re definitely wrong, but okay.” 

“Not getting into it today.” Holding his hand up to stop Steve, Henderson turns to Billy. “Like I ways saying. _How the hell_ did that dude get here already?”

“Yeah. Like I fucking said, Toothless,” hisses Hargrove, bending down so he can get at eye-level with Dustin. Steve feels kinda proud when the kid only flinches a tiny bit. “They. Have. _Portals_.”

“Not _good ones, _dipshit,” spits Dustin. “Does this clone body come with Alzheimer’s? Yeah, sorry—did you forget that the only reason you got out of that shithole was because of El?” 

“Wow. You guys are really committed to this.” Suzie sounds impressed, and Steve’s got no clue what she’s talking about until he remembers what Henderson said earlier, about how she wouldn’t buy any of the crap he’s told her about the Upside Down. Guess she’s just thinking it’s one of their Dungeon Games or something, and Dustin’s just really into it. 

“Uh. Sure.” Henderson skips the rest of that conversation so he can go ahead with the first one. “Okay, so—let’s assume they fixed their portals. We still don’t know how… ” His eyes bug out and he freezes. “… Shit.”

“What?”

“Th-They had shitty portals. That’s what Mike said. They wouldn’t stay open, and they fried anybody who tried to go through them. But…” Dustin shakes his head, looking super lost, suddenly. “Fuck.” When he looks up at Steve, Steve swears that scared look on his face makes him look five years younger. “What if El was the key? What if her powers were whatever was, like, missing in their formula to stabilize their portals.” 

“Then…” Gulping, Steve shrugs. “… That _sucks.” _

“Yeah,” mutters Henderson. “… Let’s just hope they’re not coming after _us.” _

Steve snorts, nodding his head at Hargrove. “Maybe they’re here to take you back to the _motherland_.” Sighing, he mumbles, “That’d be nice.”

“Fuck you,” spits Hargrove, and Steve _does_ mean ‘spits.’ A little bit flies into his face and he has to wipe it off with a grossed out noise.

“Aaaall right.” Henderson stops talking for a minute, and everybody, even Hargrove, is weirdly quiet. And then Dustin keeps talking. “Whatever they’re doing here, it’s bad, it’s definitely suspicious, and might get us all killed. I get that. Totally. _But—“ _He lifts his watch up and points to it. “Suzie’s only here for another twelve days, ten hours, and twenty-eight minutes. And as of right now, it iiiiis…” He taps the glass. “Five ‘o clock.”

“So?” Steve lets his arms flop down at his sides.

“Soooo, you’re off.” He says this shit like it’s obvious. “Give us a ride.”

“Oh. Hm.” Steve leans against the counter. “And _why_ would I do that?”

Dustin doesn’t even blink. “Because you have no foreseeable life direction and nothing going on after work?”

“Jesus _Christ, _man.” Way to go for the fucking jugular! Mouth popping open, Steve stares at him for a good ten seconds before he gives in. “First of all, I was gonna go grocery shopping. Second—fuck you, Henderson.”

Dustin whispers to Suzie-poo, all excited, like he outsmarted Steve or something. “That means ‘yes’.”

Steve throws his arms in the air and jams his timesheet in the punchcard thingy, not even looking at Keith when the guy comes in giving him the same stink eye he’s been getting for the last five months. Guess there still aren’t enough hot girls around according to him, and it’s Steve’s fault for getting fat. Grabbing his stuff off the counter, Steve shrugs his coat on and jerks his hand towards the back door. “C’mon, shitheads. Your chariot awaits.”

He and Dustin and Suzie-poo take about three steps before Hargrove loses it. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“To the batcave, dickbrain.” Steve turns around, then kinda… stares, because what the fuck? Why does Hargrove give a shit? “What? What the hell are you staring at?” Lifting his hand up, Steve shoos him like a possum. “Aren’t you late to… feeling up Dana Garber’s mom or something?” They both want Hargrove to get lost, so what’s the hold up?

“Harringon.” God, Steve hates Keith’s voice. It’s like the sound-version of nosebleed. “Get this freak out of here. He’s gonna scare the customers.”

“He’s not—“ Steve starts to say ‘with us’, but there’s no fucking point. Groaning, he slaps his hand on Dustin’s shoulder, giving him a shove towards the back door. Hargrove stands there, glaring, and Steve snaps, “Move it already!” Suzie follows Dustin, and after giving him the finger, Hargrove takes one look at Keith and stomps after them. They make it to the parking lot behind the store before Suzie freezes, squeaks, then runs back in before the door locks her out to grab her movies.

“… He’s not seriously coming with us, right?” Dustin watches Hargrove light up a cigarette with the same face you’d make if you walked in on your folks screwing.

Hargrove takes a drag, holds it in, then bends over to blow smoke in Henderson’s face. Henderson grabs his neck and chokes, doing this whole routine where he almost falls on his knees because he’s coughing so hard.

“Wow,” Steve says. Y’know what? He was gonna do the douchebag a favor and try and figure out where they could stick Hargrove that _wasn’t_ his place, but now? He doesn’t give a shit anymore. Hargrove can sleep in the dumpster back here for all he cares. “You’re so mature.”

Hargrove flicks him in the stomach. “Can it, preggo.”

Steve winces and smacks Hargrove’s hand away, and that’s when they all hear it. Something moving in the pile of garbage behind them. Something… _big. _

They all freeze, and, out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Hargrove’s hand go up to touch at his shirt, like he’s feeling for something on his skin around where his ribs are. The noises keep going and Henderson grabs Steve’s arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave white marks.

“Dude. Steve.” Henderson’s whispering is not quiet, at all. “That raccoon sounds fucking huge.”

“Not a raccoon.” Hargrove growls that, and Steve and Dustin both turn to look at him, because seriously, what the fuck?

A second later, they see what it is, and Hargrove’s right. It is… _not_ a raccoon. It gets dark real early these days, but even in the nasty, pale light from the street lamps, Steve would know one of these fuckers anywhere. A small, scrawny demodog comes bolting out of the trash, down the alley, and out towards the street. Steve could swear, just for a second, it turns its head to look at them while it runs. Or… head-mouth at them, since the little shits don’t have eyes.

“He’s back.” At first, Steve has no clue who said that. But it sure as hell wasn’t Dustin, and it wasn’t him, which means it was Hargrove. It’s just that Steve’s never heard him talk that quiet. But it had to be him, and when Steve looks at him, he’s clawing at that same spot on his chest, licking his lips the way a nervous dog does.

The door swings open and they all jump about a foot. Suzie’s standing there, hugging her fifty tapes. “That guy in there’s a real j-e-r-k. He wouldn’t believe me when I said you already checked these out!” This big grin on her face, she looks up at the three of them. “So—what did I miss?”

Henderson’s mouth opens and shuts, creepy ventriloquist dummy style. “GOD,” he screams, “_DAMN IT.” _


End file.
